


Blue Tide

by SentinelWolf



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fisherman Hank, M/M, Mer-Connor, Victorian era, mermaid anatomy, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2020-05-16 18:45:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SentinelWolf/pseuds/SentinelWolf
Summary: Hank Anderson is just a humble fisherman, doing what he must to get by. After being screwed over in a business transaction, his bleeding heart gets him into trouble, as it usually does. Now he's sheltering a deadly sea creature against all of his better judgement, with a vengeful aristocrat out for his blood.





	1. Helluva Night

**Author's Note:**

> Just an idea I've had kicking around my head for a while. Finally got the courage to write it out and share it with others, in case someone out there likes reading my rambling.
> 
> I do intend to write more than just this first part - I cannot guarantee when update(s) will occur, though.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy, and thank you for reading.

Folk tales always have hidden knowledge and history contained within them. Unfortunately, over time humans often forget these stories and the information is lost. Sometimes, superstition could save lives.

As a fisherman, Hank Anderson knew this better than most; the sea was a cruel mistress and all manner of ungodly things lurked beneath her blue surface. He lived a dangerous life on his small fishing boat, accompanied only by his dog – but that suited him just fine. Other people were often more trouble than they were worth.

He'd come to port just in time for market day, to offload his catch, get some supplies, and maybe spend the night at the local pub before setting sail again in the morning. The sooner his business was concluded, the better...the dark clouds gathering overhead warned of a storm coming.

Many kinds of people purchased fish from Hank that day: restaurant owners, cooks for the upper class, humble housewives, and even the occasional street child. He didn't care who they were – money was money. The only trouble he had was off-loading a particularly large tuna. 

It was nearly nightfall when one last customer approached him. Most of the market was already closed up, having sold their stock. The man was over-dressed for running errands, with a heavy coin purse in hand. Anyone with that much money made Hank wary.

The man was interested in that giant tuna, and in spite of his misgivings, far be it beyond Hank to turn down someone's money. He was even offered extra if he would be courteous enough to load and unload the fish on this guy's cart. Why not? The pay was lavish enough that he could treat himself to a fine whiskey afterward.

The journey took him across town, well away from the docks and the lower class houses, into the much wealthier part of town. He took the cart around the back of the mansion he was directed to, helping to unload it at the servant's entrance. There were a lot of guests visiting the place, and the kitchen was extremely busy – but they seemed relieved to be presented with such a sizable fish to prepare.

With his payment in hand, Hank was ready to depart for the nearest public house, when he realized the sum he'd been given was only a fraction of what he'd been promised. He turned back to yell at the man servant about short changing him, but he'd already scurried off. Damnable penny pinching bastards were not getting away with this.

Hank took advantage of the hectic working of the cooks to sneak in the back door, past the kitchen and down into the wine cellar. If he couldn't get the cash he was owed, then maybe he could accept a good drink in it's stead. He wasn't normally one for wine, but he could try something new for a change.

It was dark in the cellar, but he had some matches in his pocket. Making his way to the back, Hank reached for a bottle of the oldest stuff they had, hearing the sound of water to one side of him. In the dim light of his match, he saw the tank, full of dark water, and within it, a face. 

He didn't cry out, but he certainly jumped, dropping the bottle he'd been reaching for – it's shattering echoed through the cellar, but seemed to go unnoticed by the servants above. 

His match burnt out, Hank's first instinct was to run away, very fast; however his curiosity still pulled at him. Had he just stumbled upon a murder? He had to know for sure. Striking another match, he moved close to the water tank and looked upon the figure within.

Within the salty smelling water, was not a still, lifeless body. The creature was very much alive – a half man, half fish, swimming in restless circles while Hank gaped in awe. It noticed his gaze upon it and shied away, moving to the back of the tank but also keeping an eye on him. They were mutually curious about one another, it seemed.

Sounds came from the stairs to the cellar, and Hank scrambled to hide somewhere in the shadows of the wine racks. One of the kitchen staff came to the fish man's tank, a candle in hand for light. She set the candle down and tossed something into the water through the lid's iron bars – the head of the tuna they'd been cooking.

The merman was not pleased with this offering, barely waiting for the woman to leave before ejecting it from his tank. Hank was somehow not surprised that a wealthy person was still too cheap to feed his 'pet' properly – he also noted how thin the creature looked. Starving and stubborn...it had spirit at least.

Noticing Hank's gaze, the merman moved closer, cautiously, seeming to stare at him now. It was rather unsettling how it's eyes seemed to look through him. Lifting it's shackled arms, it pointed a clawed finger at something behind him. Turning, Hank was able to see a key hanging on a hook on the wall – was it really asking him to set it free?

He looked between the key and the merman's expectant face, his own features twisted into a thoughtful frown. It had been such a bad idea to come down here to begin with, and now this. As a sailor, he knew all kinds of stories about the monsters of the sea, merfolk included – how they loved nothing more than to consume the sweet flesh of humans they lured in with their charms. Yet, this one looked so weak and harmless.

Hank cursed his bleeding heart and the strangely puppy-eyed face that the merman was making. Of all the times that he should just walk away, this was the greatest among them, and he could not manage to do so. Muttering under his breath, he swiped the key from it's hook and reached up to open the iron lock on the water tank.

Excitedly, the merman could scarcely wait for the barred lid to open before climbing out of the tank, sliding down onto the stone floor. The noise that this all created made Hank tense up, his nerves already fraying – how would he get out of here unnoticed?

“You want to get back to the ocean? Then you need to be quiet and do as I say.” Hank wasn't even sure if it understood what he was saying, but it allowed him to unlock it's shackles without a fuss. He didn't know how long it could be out of water; all the more reason to be quick.

Moving to the door to the pantry, Hank pushed it open just enough to peek at the kitchen staff as they moved about. He might have just one chance to get by them unseen.

The merman followed behind his human savior, watching what he did with curiosity. He didn't seem to share in Hank's concern regarding their escape. It had Hank wondering if perhaps the intelligence of Mer people had been exaggerated in all of the stories. Being out of the locked tank didn't equate to safety; but the half-fish seemingly hadn't figured that out yet.

Waiting until the kitchen fell quiet as the servers left with loaded platters and the cooks simultaneously went to dispose of the food waste, Hank seized the opportunity to move through the room and out of the back door. 

The merman moved at a much more relaxed pace, looking around the kitchen and sticking things in his mouth as if trying to puzzle out what was edible. Hank toyed with the idea of leaving the stupid thing to wind up in a chowder or whatever this aristocrat planned to do with it.

With an irritated sigh, he grabbed a folded tablecloth from nearby, wrapped the merman up in it, and slung it over his shoulder. His new captive was not happy about this, and squirmed around, making displeased noises.

As he was making his way out at last, bundle in tow, he was spotted by one of the returning servants, who ran to alert others. Knowing that he had little time, Hank made a run for the wharf – thinking about his recent choices the entire way.

Fortunately, the waterfront seemed to be deserted at that time of night. Hank could hear the rapid hoof beats of horses following him, and he only just made it to the water's edge, to drop the merman into the ocean before he was found by a pair of rough looking men. Dismounting from their horses, they trained their pistols on the winded old sailor.

The merman meanwhile, unraveled himself from the cloth he'd been wrapped in, feeling a sense of refreshment at being in the cold saltwater again. He did not immediately dive back into the depths however, as he was curious about his rescuer. After asking so many different humans for his freedom, finally a new face had come and obliged him. He wondered at what set this one apart from the others.

“What did you do with it?” the first gunman demanded of Hank, cocking back the hammer on his pistol. “We know it was you who ran off with it.”

Hank played dumb, withdrawing a bottle he'd snatched earlier from his coat pocket and holding it out to them. “Fine, you caught me. I just couldn't help myself.”

“Don't be a smart ass. Where is the fish? You better have it still, or you're as good as dead!”

“I'm afraid that I'm sold out for this week, Gentlemen. But I appreciate your concern for my welfare.” 

Hank kept fraying at the nerves of both men by dodging their questions, waiting for the moment when they'd get frustrated enough to finally pull the trigger. If his miserable life was about to end for the sake of a merman of all things, he would have a laugh beforehand. 

Rain began to fall from the dark clouds overhead, distant rumbles of thunder sounding as the small bit of light on the wharf seemed to fade away. A drab moment to meet one's end.

“Do you have a family, Fishmonger?” the first gunman asked icily as his partner seemed fixated on giving an intimidating glare. “If you can't return the Merman to it's rightful owner, then this is going to make a lot of trouble for them. Surely, you- “

“My family is long gone, as is the Merman that I set free. You'll never get it back. So if you have nothing else to pester me about, kindly fuck off and we'll both get on with our evening.” Hank was no longer amused with the exchange; if they were going to shoot him, he wished they'd get it over with.

A low hiss suddenly came from behind the growling sailor, a chilling sound even when heard in already cold rain. All three men turned their attention to the Merman who had just climbed back upon the docks – it's figure hunched low and rigid. Something about the scene had agitated it.

Despite the dark, Hank could recognize the features of the fish creature that he'd rescued – although it didn't look nearly as harmless as it had previously. It's eyes were totally black and unfeeling, it's face snarling with a mouth full of razor teeth. Long claws he could swear hadn't been there before tipped each of it's fingers. Even the wavy fins on it's body seemed to stand upright and stiff like spines. This was the Mer that stories spoke of.

Much quicker than any of them expected, the Merman charged forward, rushing past Hank and toward the two gunmen. Both men fired their pistols at their attacker, the first shot scrapping the fish-man's arm and embedding into his hip, the second striking his shoulder. This should have dropped or at least deterred the creature, or so one would think, but it did little to stop him getting to his chosen target.

The first gunman turned tail and ran to his horse, fleeing into the night and leaving his partner to his fate. Hank stood frozen in shock as the Merman mauled the other man to death, any cries for help or mercy quickly silenced by the flurry of claws and teeth. 

Once it's victim stopped moving, the creature bit a few more chunks of flesh off of the body, before seeming satisfied. Then, it turned to face Hank. It's features were back to how they'd been before – sweet and innocent looking, save for the fresh, red blood all over it's face.

As it started to move toward him, Hank tensed up and got ready to run for his life, but the Merman's approach gave him pause. It's wounds bleeding blue, the creature seemed to have burned what little energy it had, and it's movement became lethargic. It looked up at him sadly before it sank down to the ground, quiet whimpers of pain able to be heard beneath the sound of the rain. 

Every fibre of Hank's being was screaming at him to run away from the god-forsaken thing laying before him, and yet, he still felt for it. It had saved him from his predicament, and he was not so sure that it's actions had been random. He couldn't just leave it lying there in the street.

“I've completely lost my mind...” Soaked to the bone and very sore, Hank covered the now unconscious Merman with his jacket and scooped it into his arms, heading home in the dark.

Hank owned a small house not far from the wharf; it wasn't anything luxurious, but it had everything one could need. Squished in between other old buildings in far worse states, he hoped that the trouble that he started that night would be slow to find him there.

Fumbling with his key, Hank got the door open, kicking it shut behind him as he made his way to the bathroom. He laid the Merman in the bathtub and brought a chair in from the kitchen to sit on while he tried to tend to it's wounds. Removing the bullets with a fishing knife and sewing the wounds closed with a hook and sinew line, he did the best job he could.

Filling the tub with cold water and adding a bunch of table salt, he didn't think that he could do much more for his 'guest' for the time being. He just hoped that it would survive – and not end up killing him in his sleep or something equally unpleasant.

Hank was sore and exhausted by that point; so much so that he only took the time to feed his dog and strip off his waterlogged clothes before climbing into bed, not even bothering to eat. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep the moment that his head hit the pillow.


	2. A Fishy House Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank allows the Merman to hide out at his house until he is ready to return to the ocean. The Merman is a literal fish out of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone. 
> 
> I thank you for your patience with my slow-as-molasses writing speed, and hope that you enjoy reading this next part.

It was late in the next morning when Hank finally woke from his slumber, his stomach hurting him something fierce. The rain was still falling outside, and a damp chill pervaded the house as the wind rattled the windows in their frames. For a few minutes, the events of the previous night felt like something he'd dreamed up from being over-tired.

This didn't last long however, as Hank took note of the wet clothing on the bedroom floor and found himself reminded of reality. Not bothering to put anything on, he got out of bed and crept toward the bathroom, nervous about what he'd find – would the fish man still be there? Would it be dead, or alive? He wasn't sure which was worse.

The Merman was right where he'd been left, asleep in the over-filled bath tub and still alive as far as Hank could tell. His dog, Sumo, lay nearby, seeming curious about this creature that had been brought home. The canine was surprisingly unconcerned by it's presence.

Hank went to the fireplace in the living room and got a fire going to take the sodden chill off of the house. Since he'd just gotten back to shore, he didn't presently have any food in the pantry – he'd need to do some shopping and, if he was lucky, get back before his guest woke up. The last thing he needed was for the half-fish to roam about unsupervised.

Returning to his bedroom to pull on some dry clothes, Hank picked up his pea coat from where he'd dropped it and put it on as well. Despite his time in the rain the previous night, his coat was highly water resistant and kept his core warm. He put on his cap and grabbed his wallet from the dresser, pocketing it before flipping up his coat collar and stepping out into the stormy weather.

In spite of the rain, some market stalls were still open, and he was able to purchase a couple of vegetables and some fruit, mostly on the off-chance that the Merman might like those. After getting some fresh bread, several cuts of meat, butter and eggs, the old fisherman was unable to obtain any fish in spite of his searching. Ironically, he wasn't fond of eating fish, and so he hadn't held on to any of his own catch. He would just have to hope that his guest would accept something outside of it's primary diet.

When he returned home, Hank found the house had warmed up and seemingly remained quiet during his absence. Sumo came to greet him at the door, as he always did. 

Shedding his coat and hat, Hank went to the kitchen to fix up some breakfast – he was starving such that it actually hurt by that point. With eggs and bacon sizzling in the frying pan, the house was soon filled with the delicious smell. It was then that the sound of sloshing water came from the bathroom.

Curious about the noise, Sumo returned to the bathroom, which caused more splashing to occur. Hank took his pan off of the stove and hurried over to find Sumo excitedly looking at the Merman, who was very much awake and nervous about the unfamiliar animal standing mere feet away.

The Merman hunkered down as much as he could within the bath tub, hiding his face behind the edge of it while most of his tail was hanging outside. Every time he lifted his head up, Sumo made an excited noise, which scared him into hiding again. Hank found it perplexing that the same creature that attacked two armed men so fearlessly was now somehow nervous about a friendly dog. 

Sending a reluctant Sumo out of the room, Hank stood by the door and tried to look non-threatening. The Merman finally sat up in the tub properly, his movement sending more water over the brim and onto the floor. He looked at Hank quietly, seeming confused and wary.

“Alright. Uh... Can you understand me?” Hank asked, deciding that he should start with the most pressing question now that they finally had time to talk.

The Merman nodded his head slowly, watching the human for any suspicious moves. However he did note that he was unconfined. Whoever this man was didn't seem to want to keep him prisoner.

“That's good” Hank sighed in relief knowing that they could communicate. “You got shot twice last night, and I brought you here to try and fix you up.” He gestured to the stitched wound in the fish man's shoulder. “I got the bullets out. I don't think that they hit anything important. Just be careful that you don't rip the stitches, okay?”

The Merman nodded again, rubbing his shoulder and frowning thoughtfully at how tender the area was. He could return to the ocean, though catching prey might be challenging with his injuries – this brought his attention back to the smell that had woken him up. He pointed toward the kitchen beyond Hank and opened his mouth to speak, but only a little squeak escaped him.

Hank didn't know what to make of the squeak, although it was kind of...cute? He took a moment to understand what his guest was getting at.

“Oh right, you must be hungry. I have food. It's not fish, but it's good all the same.” He went and got a plate of breakfast – bacon, eggs and toast – and brought it to the Merman, who accepted it but seemed somewhat cautious about eating it's contents.

For a few minutes, Hank just stood silently and watched the creature eat, still trying to come to terms with his new reality. He had a Merman in his bathtub, who was dangerous and strange. Yet there was definitely something sort of innocent about it, the way it regarded unfamiliar things with an almost child-like curiosity. It was similar to the old stories he'd heard about Mer folk, while being entirely different at the same time.

The Merman undoubtedly appreciated the food he'd been given, especially the crunchy bacon. It felt like it had been so long since he'd had a full stomach. Time was difficult to keep track of when one was locked away from the sunlight – he wasn't sure how long he'd been a prisoner in the other human's cellar.

He looked at Hank with his head tilted slightly to one side. There were many questions he wanted to voice, but...

“Do you speak?” Hank asked, noticing the wanting look on the Merman's face. “I've only heard you make...animal noises.”

At first the fish-man looked insulted, and he set the human with a pointed glare, but it quickly faded away into an expression of sadness. He shook his head, again wanting to say something and frustrated with being unable to. 

Hank was troubled by the creature's forlorn looks, and took the empty plate back out to the kitchen, returning with a slate and a stick of chalk.

“You can write, or draw what you want to say” he explained, only then realizing that this creature might not have any comprehension of such things. Maybe he was expecting too much of it.

The Merman took the items in his webbed hands and moved carefully as he tested it out, doing his best not to get the slate wet. Seeing how it worked, his eyes lit up at this new method of communication, and he moved the chalk in careful, deliberate strokes. When he was finished, he turned the slate to face Hank.

“My name is Konar” the slate read in a clear text, oddly tidy for someone new to writing.

“Your name is...Connor?” Hank responded, slightly dumbfounded and feeling guilty for underestimating the other man's capabilities. “My name is Hank. It'd be kind of awkward to say 'Nice to Meet You' at this point, wouldn't it?”

Connor smiled softly, the first expression of happiness that Hank had seen on the Merman's face since they first encountered one another. It was a warm look, and so far removed from any look he'd been given in years. The feeling it gave him was almost shocking to his system after being devoid of it for so long.

“You can hide here until you're healed up, alright?” Hank relaxed himself, bringing a chair into the room from the kitchen and sitting down. “Then you can get back to the ocean, and do whatever it is that your kind do.”

Connor looked conflicted on how to respond, briefly furrowing his brow in thought before swiping his slate clean with a cloth and writing again. “What do you know of my kind?” the new message read, his expression curious rather than demanding.

Just a day ago, Hank would've felt that he could answer that question with confidence – detailing the various ways that Mer would lure people and indulge in their man-eating ways. But now, he was becoming more and more aware that he knew much less than he'd thought. If he went spouting off Old Wife's Tales now, he'd probably sound like a fool.

“Well... All I've ever had to go on is stories about Mer folk, and none of them are very flattering. I always thought that you were just heartless sea monsters.” He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “I guess that I don't know much. The way that you killed that man last night was what I'd always pictured your kind to be like.”

Connor's face fell upon hearing this, but he was quick to write a response. “Only when under threat” he wrote, causing Hank to look at him incredulously. He pouted back at him, tapping his slate pointedly.

“Right. I'll take your word for it” Hank said, unsure if he really believed that but not wanting to dwell on the subject. “Is there any particular reason that you can't talk? You seem able to make noises, so why not words?”

For this question, Connor was visibly conflicted, averting his gaze momentarily and biting at his lower lip. “I'm not allowed to talk” he wrote on the slate, watching Hank's reaction cautiously as if he was expecting judgment.

“You're gonna have to elaborate on that” Hank said, not looking judgmental, only very confused. It seemed as if this was a source of embarrassment for the Merman, and he had no clue what to expect for an explanation. “What do you mean by 'not allowed'? Who says that you can't? What's stopping you?”

“The Queen” Connor wrote, his gaze still low.

“I'm assuming that you don't mean the Queen of England” Hank forced a chuckle, trying to show Connor that he didn't have to be nervous and ashamed. “So your kind has a Queen, then? But how is she going to know if you're talking to someone? I won't tell if you won't.”

“I asked too many questions. She took my voice.” Connor did not share in Hank's amusement, still looking solemn as he wrote on the slate and made his host feel even more awkward than before. He rubbed at his throat, like there was something invisible there that the human could not see.

“She...took your voice?” Hank asked, still trying to grasp what the Merman was getting at. He didn't look like he had scars on his throat, so did he mean... “Are you talking about magic or something?”

Connor nodded at him, his expression reading like this whole result should have been obvious. Humans did magic too; it wasn't just a Mer practice. Hank was a sailor – he probably did magic all the time to protect his boat and ensure good fishing.

“You know humans who do magic, don't you?” Connor asked, only being further confused when Hank didn't nod in affirmation. To go out onto the open sea without protective magic seemed like a foolish idea to him, but perhaps magic was different with humans than he'd thought. “Do humans still do magic?”

“Do we still cast spells and things like that? I suppose so... Although it's been a sensitive subject for the past few centuries. I have my own beliefs – I've never seen anything that I would call 'Magic', but maybe it exists somewhere.” Hank shrugged, giving an apologetic smile to the Merman's look of disappointment.

At this, Connor sank down into the tub, his disappointment hanging over him like a cloud for a time, until he found more questions to ask and began writing again. Hank almost wanted to chuckle at how easily this fish found his enthusiasm. He'd never seen an aquatic being with so much curiosity – but his eagerness to learn couldn't be a bad thing, surely.

“Why did you save me?” read the question, which quickly snapped Hank out of his musings. 

“It was a really hasty decision, obviously” he replied thoughtfully. To be honest, he hadn't stopped to really think about why he'd felt so compelled to help this creature he'd formerly regarded as a sea monster. “I'd say it's likely because you look like a person to me, and all people should be free as long as they're not hurting anybody.”

“Do you regret freeing me because I killed that man?” Connor was fast to ask, once again looking like he was feeling guilty. 

“Regret it? No. He was threatening me and you acted defensively...that's different than unwarranted aggression on your part.”

This answer seemed to calm the Merman's doubts, and nodded quietly in understanding. He fixed a long gaze at the human, almost as if he were looking right into the core of his being. His next message caught Hank by surprise.

“You should keep yourself warm and dry. You are falling ill.”

“Falling ill? What are you talking about? I feel fine” Hank responded, with just a hint of indignation. “You think an old sailor can't handle some cold rain? I've weathered through more storms than you ever have, living underwater.” He rose up from his chair, ignoring the fact that his nose was getting stuffy and his body ached a little more than usual. “You worry about yourself, and I'll handle my own welfare.”

Connor wasn't offended by the remarks. In fact, he found it kind of funny how hard Hank was trying to defend his honor against some perceived attack. It was not shameful to be be sick – and Hank was definitely sick, he just didn't know it yet.

 

As the day carried on, the rain continued to fall outside, and Hank became more and more aware of how right Connor had been about his condition. A fever had come creeping up on him, likely a result of his not bothering to warm up properly the previous night. He sat in front of the living room fireplace, bundled in a blanket and going over his finances. Nothing like taking care of your bills when you felt like shit.

Connor meanwhile had requested permission to read his host's book collection – he was allowed to so long as he kept them dry. It was a bit challenging, but he managed. His curiosity about humans was like an insatiable hunger that he needed to attempt to satisfy with new information. The tomes offered him insights into human society, although he sometimes confused fiction and non-fiction.

Even as occupied as he was with his reading, the Merman kept poking around the house as well, exploring all the nooks and crannies. He'd occasionally pester Hank about something, to ask a question or share a discovery he'd made. If he hadn't been ill, perhaps Hank would not have been so irritated by it. 

It took a while, but finally Connor seemed to take the hint and left Hank alone to stew in his misery. He wanted to help his host somehow, but he didn't know what he could do, if anything, and didn't want to risk asking. Eventually Hank retired back to his bedroom to rest, unable to do much but try and sleep through the fever. 

Connor discovered some new books tucked away in the kitchen, and one in particular caught his eye. It was titled “Kitchen Magic: Recipes for Healthful Living”. This find brought a smile to his face - Hank had books on magic after all! He could brew a potion to make him better; human magic couldn't be that complicated. That would prove that he was a good house guest and not a burden on his savior.

Flipping through the dusty pages, Connor searched for the perfect concoction to make, his eyes settling upon one that promised to “treat all colds and flu”. The title said Traditional, so it was probably an old and time-tested recipe. Yes, this was the one. He was going to brew up a pot of Chicken Soup! First, he needed to sacrifice a chicken...

This would be the most difficult part, since he didn't know what a chicken was. If the illustration in the book was accurate, then a chicken was a bird. Humans eat birds. He'd seen sea birds before, like gulls; a chicken looked somewhat similar, but fatter. Now where could he find one?

Connor peeked out of the kitchen window and looked up at the gray, overcast sky. He couldn't see any birds at all, let alone a chicken. Pouting thoughtfully, he was drawn from his gazing by Sumo, who had moved from his place on the bed with Hank to paw at the front door. The dog wanted to go outside? Should he let him out? Maybe just for a minute...

Slipping over to the door, Connor unlatched the locks and opened it just enough for Sumo to push through. Just outside, there was a small patch of green that used to be a garden, a collective space shared by the houses and apartments that surrounded it. It hadn't been touched in a very long time, from the look of it.

While Sumo sniffed around for the right spot to do his business, Connor took notice of the only thing in the alleyway besides the untended grass and trash bins – a small house. A building that was too small for people and looked better suited to dolls, or maybe for children to play in. The Merman was very puzzled by it, but the sounds coming from within intrigued him. They were unfamiliar.

Curious as always, Connor looked around to be sure that no humans were nearby, before moving out into the rain-drenched alley. Peeking into the little door-less opening, he found a handful of birds looking back at him, their nervous clucks mostly drowned out by the rainfall.

He was ecstatic – these must be chickens! They looked just like the picture in the potion book. What luck that he found them living in a tiny house and not flying in the sky. Without hesitation, he reached inside and grabbed one by the foot, pulling it out while it cried out in fear, it's wild flapping whipping up a flurry of feathers.

Once he had a hold on it, Connor's instincts took over, and he silenced his quarry with a bite to the throat. He spat out the blood and feathers and hurried back into Hank's house, finding that Sumo had already returned there. Now he had his chicken sacrifice. Time to get brewing!

He'd 'cleaned' his kills before; fish couldn't be that different from birds. Borrowing one of Hank's kitchen knives, Connor removed the head, feet, and wings, disposing of them in the garbage bin. Then he took the skin and it's nasty feathers off, took out the innards, so he was able to cut the meat away from the bones.

Placing the meat into a skillet and the bones into a pot of water, Connor opened up the cast iron stove and looked at the coals inside. He needed fire, and he wasn't sure how to make it. Maybe he could transfer fire from the fireplace? He looked at said fire, which had burned down considerably since Hank had lit it earlier in the day. A single stick should do the trick.

Picking up the small ash shovel from the group of fire implements, Connor got a burning piece of wood from the fireplace and transferred it to the stove. Seeing the coals glowing inside, he added some more sticks from the wood box, poking at it with the shovel until it seemed to be burning again. He did the same to revive the fire in the hearth – had to keep the house warm for Hank. It was uncomfortably warm for him personally, but he could tolerate it for his sick host's sake.

 

Hank woke up in the early evening, to the smell of something cooking, something familiar. He sniffed at the air, but his nose was still stuffy. Was that Chicken he smelled? Pulling himself out of bed, he tried to remember if he'd left something on the stove again, wandering into the kitchen to find an unusual scene laid out before him.

Connor was propped up on his tail, almost as high as a standing person – Hank hadn't realized that the fish-man could do that. The Merman was stirring the aromatic pot and adding what looked to be chopped vegetables, while Sumo lay nearby chewing at what remained of a bird carcass. There was a distinct trail of blood and feathers strewn upon the floor, with a sprinkling of ashes.

Before Hank could even ask what the hell Connor was up to, there came a knock at the door.

Thankfully, Connor didn't need to be told to hide; he scurried from his spot at the stove to the relative safety behind the couch. Hank rubbed at his eyes and opened the door to find one of his neighbors standing there, looking concerned.

“Hey Ben. What brings you here?” Hank asked, finding it easy to sound casual when he was so tired from fever. 

“Sorry to bother you at meal time, Hank, but I came home from work and found one of my chickens missing.” Ben gestured to the washed out but still visible trail of blood land feathers leading from the alleyway coop to Hank's front door. “Now I don't mean to point the finger...”

Hank sighed and gave an apologetic smile. “No, I'm sorry. I should have kept a closer eye on Sumo. I'll compensate you for the loss of your bird. It won't happen again.”

Hank gave Ben some coin in spite of his insistence that one hen wasn't a big deal – Ben was one of the few people in the world that Hank saw as Good, and he was a blessing of a neighbor. Had the same thing happened with anyone else, they would not have been so amicable about it, of that he was certain.

Once that was dealt with, Hank turned to set his gaze at the couch, or rather, what was behind it.

“Connor” he said in a flat tone, watching as the Merman poked his head up from behind his hiding spot. “What did you do?”

“I needed a chicken for the potion” Connor wrote on his slate hastily, not wanting to invoke Hank's wrath. “I didn't know they belonged to anyone. I'm sorry.”

There was a period of silence between them, where Hank glanced at the stove's bubbling pot, and back to Connor – who's drooping ear fins made him look like a puppy that had been scolded. He didn't like the idea of having this stranger rooting around in his things without permission, and yet...his intentions seemed innocent enough. He didn't have the energy to get angry about it, anyway. He sighed.

“Alright, you're forgiven. Just don't go out again, okay? All it takes is one person spotting you, and we're both screwed. What do you mean by 'potion'?”

“I found a magic book, and it had a recipe for a potion that could make you better. I just wanted to help.” Connor perked up again and gestured to the book lying open on the counter. 

Hank looked over it and understood what the Merman's thought process had been. He was just making chicken soup... Even in his fevered state, Hank made a sound of amusement. This half-fish was quite a character; a potential safety hazard, to be sure, but a character nonetheless.

“I see... Well, unfortunately that's not a 'potion book', and what you made isn't going to cure me. But it will help. I...appreciate the thought. No more cooking unsupervised, though – I can't risk you burning the house down.”

Connor felt a mix of disappointment and relief. His brew wouldn't cure Hank? Maybe he'd been right about humans not doing magic so much anymore. Still, the chicken soup would help him get better, and that made the effort worthwhile.

Moving out from behind the couch, Connor returned to the stove and stirring his pot. Hank drew closer and looked into said pot to examine the contents. It looked mostly normal. He reached up to the cabinets and got a pair of bowls, filling them both with the soup and placing them on the table with spoons. Now he just had to hope that he wouldn't get food poisoning.

The two of them sat at the table together, Hank slouching in fatigue and Connor awkwardly balancing in his chair. Hank poked through the bowl with his spoon, looking for anything suspect; he found the meat was fully cooked, and the veggies in large chunks, but it appeared to be safe. He brought a spoonful to his mouth, and Connor soon followed suit after observing how a spoon was used.

“Connor, this is...not bad for a first attempt at cooking.” It wasn't amazing of course, but it was edible and was a remarkable effort for someone who had never made soup before. “We don't usually eat the green part of the carrots, though” he added with a soft chuckle, picking the offending parts out as he ate.

“I'll do better next time” Connor wrote between mouthfuls, as he also found the soup palatable. The carrot greens made him scrunch his face up, and he spit them out, which earned another amused chuckle from Hank. “I mean, if you allow me to cook again, of course.”

“We'll see. Maybe I could show you a few things after I've kicked this cold.”

The two proceeded to eat their meal in a comfortable silence. It was a feeling that Hank hadn't felt in some time. So much had happened in such a short time, and in spite of his stormy mood, he found himself glad for it. He'd originally thought that he was insane to be sticking his neck out for this Merman, but now it didn't seem crazy at all. It might be nice to have Connor around for a while.


	3. Sex on the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor heals up and is sent on his way to be free once again, but for Hank, the separation from his new friend turns out to be more painful than he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait for this chapter. I struggle with Executive Dysfunction, so writing is often a slow process for me. Thank you to everyone who has been reading!
> 
> Also, when I originally thought of this story, I commissioned art of the best scene in this chapter.   
> https://twitter.com/_kiriani/status/1124335370089287680  
> The art turned out so well that it made me want to attempt writing the story. Enjoy the visual aid.

Connor took roughly a week to heal from his wounds, and in that time, he learned about cooking, how humans hunted and fished, and sometimes little things about Hank. The rain cleared away, and although he couldn't go outside, he could admire the sun from windows. His time with his human rescuer was the happiest he'd had in some time, but he knew that it wouldn't be good for either of them if he stayed any longer.

Hank had found his extended time on land to be a nice change for once, as he'd been absorbed in teaching and speaking with Connor. The two of them lived in different worlds, but they had the sea in common, and were eager to learn from one another. He hadn't carried on a conversation with someone that lasted that long in years, and being occupied had kept him from craving alcohol quite as much – quite the feat.

Part of the old sailor was sad to see the fish-man go, but he certainly couldn't stay. Even if such a thing were possible, Hank couldn't see himself being able to tolerate a room mate. He valued his privacy and his alone time, and the only one allowed into his personal bubble was his dog. There had been exceptions to that once, but...never again.

The pair waited until the late evening, when things got quieter, to sneak out of the house and down to the wharf. Connor had wanted to move by his own volition, but Hank had insisted on bundling him up in a blanket, just in case someone saw them. The docks were empty at that hour, and they had a moment of peace to say their goodbyes.

Once in the water, Connor was at once overcome with a bittersweet feeling; happy to be back in his element, but sad about parting ways with his rescuer. He looked up at Hank, doing his best to smile, and gave a little wave. Even with all the conversing they'd done in the past several days, he still felt like he had much more that he wanted to say.

“This is it, then” Hank murmured, not knowing what to say at this moment. He didn't usually get close enough to anyone to merit parting words. “It's certainly been an experience, meeting you. Take care of yourself, alright?”

He reached into his pocket and withdrew a gold inlaid nautical compass on a chain. It was a gift that had been given to him by his parents to celebrate his becoming Captain of his own boat, so many years ago. Now he wanted it to have an even greater purpose.

“I noticed that you seemed to really like this” Hank said as he held out the trinket to Connor. “It was given to me by my parents, but I want you to have it. Something to remember me by.”

Seeing how Connor's eyes lit up in joy made Hank smile warmly, able to feel a sort of gratification that only came from the act of giving to someone one cared about. Yes, he had to admit to himself that he had grown to care about the Merman in the short time they'd spent together. It figured that he got along better with a non-human person than he did regular people – and their friendship was not possible because the world was unfair.

Connor wore the compass around his neck, and looked up at Hank with gratitude, like he wanted to say something. The way that he seemed so hesitant to leave did not go unnoticed by the sailor. After what felt like an age of silence, the Merman finally vanished beneath the water's surface. 

The look of sadness in his eyes sat with Hank, such that it bothered him for the rest of the night. Sumo kept checking the bath tub as if Connor would somehow re-appear there, which only made him feel worse. He found some relief in his usual whiskey nightcap.

Hank didn't often dream, but on that night, he had a vivid dream of warm seas and colorful fish, glowing lights and glittering sands. It felt sort of odd in the morning, to wake and not find Connor there, sleeping in his bath tub, to not hear the little noises he made. But he had work to get back to; there was no time to be feeling blue.

The old sailor gathered up his dog and locked up the house, heading down to the docks to load up his boat for another trip. He got all of the usual provisions: drinking water, biscuits, dried fruit and meats, some canned goods and whiskey. Once it was in order, he set sail shortly after the sun had risen.

He had a handful of spots that he usually went to for fishing, but for some reason, he felt for a change on this voyage - maybe inspired by his dream. Charting his course further south, Hank opened the sails and manned the ship's wheel with Sumo at his side. There was nothing but calm blue ocean all around him, and clear skies above. 

He wasn't certain how well he would do fishing in unfamiliar waters, but for some reason he was overcome with a wanderlust he could not ignore. The place in his dream had felt so tangible and vivid, like it was a real place that he'd been before. Something in him was feeling like he could find this place out there in the vast waters, and he wanted to try to.

Hank's journey with Sumo was peaceful for the first days; nothing eventful from the ocean of the sky. When he wasn't checking their course or adjusting the sails, he was usually playing with his dog or lounging in a chair, feet propped against the ship's wheel while he indulged in a book. He'd taken to reading more about Mer folk, to see if there was any truth to be gleaned from all the tall tales.

Each night while he slept, he had some iteration of that same dream – warm waters, sandy beaches and bright lights all around. Everything was so blurry and surreal, yet he could not shake the instinct in his gut that he was witnessing some place that existed. A place that he had to locate. This drive he had to explore almost made him feel young again; when he'd traveled just for the joy of it.

The weather being fair, the days seemed to pass quickly, and Hank scarcely found himself listless and wanting to over-indulge in his drink. He could think of things to write in his Captain's Log each day, often pondering what he had read for that day or wondering at where his journey would lead. Maybe all of the alcohol had finally addled his brain, and he was merely sailing to his own demise. Yet, he carried on.

While he was feeling younger and more chipper, Hank returned to some of his favorite novels from his youth – reading about marine adventures while having one of his own. All that was missing in his tale, was a sea creature... He sighed, as he often did when thinking of Connor. He had been thinking of Connor quite often; the fish-man was never far form his thoughts. Hank felt an undying hope that he would encounter him again, no matter how vast the oceans were.

Eventually, unfamiliar waters began to churn out a storm, or so Hank could feel. The air was thick with energy, and he could smell rain on the breeze. 

He secured everything loose that he had aboard the boat, sequestering a nervous Sumo within his cabin while he sailed on, watching carefully as they approached a dark, ominous storm front. The needle of the compass that was affixed to the helm, began to rotate strangely. It caused Hank concern, but there was no going back. This storm stood between him and what he sought.

There were a few fleeting minutes as the boat sailed toward the storm front when the air itself seemed eerily calm. Then, as the bow entered the murk, all of the calm and sun light was suddenly ripped away.

Violent winds drew the vessel inward, the mist and storm clouds blackening out the light behind as it was pulled deeper and deeper. Hank stood defiantly at the helm, struggling to try and keep sailing straight as he was buffeted by the rain. His chances may have been remote, but he was determined to get through or die trying.

He quickly lost track of time as he fought to pass through the storm, ignoring how cold he was, soaked to the bone and stubbornly grasping the wheel. His compass being of no use, he could only feel out his direction by observing the wind and waves. All of his experience and knowledge kept him alive where a less-weathered mariner would have perished.

When he finally broke through the storm to the other side, it was like entering into a different world. The air but a quiet breeze, the sea was calm, shimmering in the late afternoon sun as it lapped at the shores of an island. This was what was hidden within the unrelenting squall – but Hank did not feel satisfied at finding it. Relieved to be through the danger for now, but not satisfied that his search was over.

Some kind of force had drawn him here, to this place that looked mundane and yet seemed like it must hold so many secrets. He did not know what he was meant to uncover, if he had any purpose to being there at all. But until he had found whatever the source of this yearning was, he could not even think of leaving. The feeling would torment him for the rest of his days if he didn't see it through to the end.

Since there was daylight left, Hank first inspected his boat for any damage and checked on Sumo. Surprisingly, the horrible storm had only shaken things around without causing harm. He didn't think himself a lucky person, but he was thankful for his good fortune in this case. Once he had things in order, he got his row boat and headed to shore, ready to explore some of the island on foot.

The beach nearest his boat was clear and clean, looking untouched by anything, human or not. Not wanting to get lost in the jungle, he stuck to coastline until he found the mouth of a river and began following it inland. He could feel this longing growing stronger as he moved further and further away from the boat – and the safety it provided. The sun was setting, and he could not afford to be roaming around blindly in the dark; but the pull to carry on was so strong, it was impossible to ignore. 

Something was telling him that what he sought was close. After all that he had endured, he needed to know the answer to the mysterious calling that was demanding his attention. Nothing else mattered until he found the source.

Eventually the river lead to a waterfall cascading over smoothed rocks. In the pool at it's base, sat someone Hank had thought he would never encounter again. In a state of awe and disbelief, he cautiously called out to the figure.

“Connor?”

The merman perked up and turned to look at him, the compass that Hank had gifted him hung around his neck. Both of them shared a moment of surprise at their meeting again. Letting out a happy trill, the fish-man left his perch on the rocks and swam down stream to meet the human. Hank had missed that sound, and simply hearing it again brought a smile to his face.

There was something else he noticed as the two of them drew close – the longing that had drawn him to the island was at once abated, and replaced with a pull of a different sort. Only then did he realize how his thoughts and dreams added up together to what should have been an obvious conclusion.

“It was you... Did you bewitch me or something?” he asked, trying not to sound angry or accusatory. Not that he wouldn't have been miffed if that were the case, given all the risks he had taken to get there. He had trusted Connor not to do such a thing.

Connor looked confused at the question, tilting his head to one side. He seemed to think about the situation for a moment, before gesturing for Hank to follow him as he swam back toward the beach. Hank was tired and hungry, but he was able to keep up well enough.

Once at the beach again, Hank's boat in sight, the merman dove into the ocean depths for a couple of minutes. When he returned, he had two large crabs in his possession, which he offered to Hank with a pointed chirp. Maybe he wouldn't get an answer right away, but he was extremely hungry.

Building a campfire with dry brush and driftwood, Hank impaled the crabs on sticks and propped them over the growing heat. The last of the sunlight finally left the sky, and brought forth a clear, starry night. As the smell of cooking crustacean began to filter into the air, he finally sat back and relaxed for the first time in a long while. Connor watched him from the nearby surf, only a few feet between the two of them.

“You didn't answer my question” Hank finally broke the silence, having to know the truth after all he had done to arrive at this point. “I was drawn here by some kind of pulling feeling that I could not ignore, that somehow guided me to a place I'd never been. Was that feeling caused by you?”

Connor again tilted his head to one side, looking up at Hank as if waiting for him to figure something out. He was unable to communicate exactly what he wanted, to tell how he had been feeling, but he knew how to show it in his own way. Flicking his tail up playfully, he gave the human a coy look and drew a distinct symbol in the wet sand with a clawed finger.

Hank saw the heart shape that the Merman created, then found himself blushing as realization washed over him. Perhaps it had been Connor that had brought him there, but not in the manner that he had thought. He hadn't stopped thinking about the fish-man since they had parted ways; being back together rekindled a distinct, warm sensation in his core. The time passed at sea while he was stuck in his own thoughts had only caused him to overthink, and thus miss what should have been obvious.

The scene before him was so beautiful that it seemed almost magical – the gentle ocean waves glowing blue as if filled with stardust, creating an aura that encased Connor's lounging form. Light reflected against his scales such that he seemed to shimmer at times. Even the silvery moon overhead was full, as if they were living in a meticulously planned romantic painting.

Connor moved up out of the water and sat himself beside Hank, smiling at him gently. Still blushing slightly, Hank turned his attention to the food in front of them; he picked up the cooked crabs from the fire and handed one over to his companion. Now he could distract himself with eating while he overcame his nerves.

The two of them picked apart their meals in silence for several minutes, both stealing glances at each other. Although they didn't exchange words, it was a comforting quiet between them. 

Once they had both finished their meals, Connor got a bit bolder and leaned close to Hank, wrapping his tail around one of his legs. A quiet purr rumbled in his throat as he brushed his lips against the fisherman's cheek in a gentle kiss, enjoying the feeling of warmth pouring from him.

Hank was feeling unusually self-conscious in the moment, not ever having been in more than a single romance in his life. He did however have the courage to kiss Connor back, finding the merman's skin smooth and cool under his lips. Some part of his brain still couldn't be certain that what was happening was real, but he ignored it. Real or a dream, he could sense what his companion wanted – what they both craved.

“I'd like to get more intimate with you, but you should know that it's been a while since I've been with someone” he admitted although he was unsure if the Merman would even care. “I don't know much about Mer anatomy, so...just guide me, alright?”

Connor's purr grew even louder as he again kissed Hank and drew a clawed hand down his form, as if he wanted to simply tear the clothes off of him. Not feeling as shy as his human, he positioned himself atop Hank – who laid back in the sand to accommodate. From there, the needy Merman could grind himself against him, not caring much for whether it was a leg, the belly, or groin that he felt beneath him. It all felt so good.

Hank was a bit surprised at how aggressive Connor was, but at the same time he found it incredibly hot. Normally, it took time for his body to 'get into the mood' as it were; but that was not a problem here. He moved to undo his belt and at least partially free himself from the confines of his trousers. Their kissing was more adventurous now – they stopped only when Hank found himself a little too close to Connor's teeth.

Connor chirped in apology, licking away the drops of blood from Hank's lip. He was eager to help him undress as well, pulling on his pants and underwear, moving them downward so as to reveal the prize he sought. His clawed hands were careful and gentle, one stroking Hank's cock while the other guided his fingers to where a slit had opened under his tail, a bit of pink poking out from beneath the blue scales.

Hank let out a quick gasp when he felt the initial shock of the cool hand against his heated erection – that was a sensation he'd never felt before. Eager to reciprocate and explore his partner's unique anatomy, he allowed his hand to be guided to where it needed to be. Gently he felt along the edges of the slit, paying close attention to Connor's responses; he was excited to be touched, moving his hips against the fingers encouragingly.

Continuing, Hank parted the slit with his finger tips, finding the inside quite warm in contrast to the rest of Connor's body. He also felt what he could reasonably assume was natural lubrication, adding a slightly oily slickness to his entering digits. Running his fingers up and down, he felt out the inside of the slit, finding a hole that took them with an eager buck of the Merman's hips. He could feel the muscles clench as if to hold them there.

Connor's noises of pure bliss were doing more for Hank than the handjob was, a fact that he found quite surprising. The Merman hungrily looked at him, and an idea came to his mind; he adjusted their positions so he could use his tongue to explore Connor while he was enjoying his fingers as well. It was then that he got to hear a new sort of sound that he'd never heard him make before, perhaps a special sound that only he would ever hear – audible bliss.

Although he loved the feeling of the warm, wet tongue licking at him, Connor could feel himself being overwhelmed and abruptly put a stop to it. He withdrew Hank's fingers from inside him and moved to instead have something bigger. While some might have found Hank's size intimidating, the Merman only found it alluring, and he was eager to take all that his mate had to offer.

Slowly, Connor lowered himself onto Hank's cock, feeling it stretch him so nicely as it slipped inside bit by bit, until he had taken all of it. It felt so good to be filled up tightly, connected to his lover on a carnal level he'd never experienced.

Not about to let the Merman do all of the work, Hank held him as he flipped them both over, assuming the position on top. He began to move his hips, one hand rubbing along the top of Connor's slit in sync with his thrusts. Connor met each movement excitedly, panting and looking almost dazed by pleasure, wanting more and more. Hank was only too happy to provide.

They carried on in increasing intensity until finally Connor could bear no more, once again making that blissful sound as he climaxed. Hank felt the Merman's body clenching onto his cock rhythmically, as if milking him for his seed, and it had him climaxing as well. Connor whimpered as he felt the burst of heat inside of him, keeping Hank in place for several minutes after they'd finished – almost stubbornly refusing to uncouple from him. 

After his brief territorial fit, Connor moved off of Hank to lay at his side, the evidence of their union trickling from his slit. Still wanting to be close, he snuggled up to his human, a purr rumbling softly in his throat. 

Hank held his Merman, ignoring his own state of partial undress for now. It had been so long since he'd felt this close to someone; it was a feeling he'd missed but hadn't the courage to seek out on his own. He was so thankful now for the foolish actions that had led him to Connor, and even more thankful for Connor himself. If only such moments could last forever...

The newly anointed couple stayed on the beach all night, making love under the stars several more times before falling asleep together next to their fire.

 

Hank was the first to wake when morning came, the warm sun having washed away the ethereal glow of the previous night. It all still felt like a dream somehow, but it was real. He looked over at the Merman lying next to him, and was shocked to find that Connor had changed at some time in the night while they'd slept.

Instead of his usual fishy features, Connor now appeared to be human, bearing a pair of legs in place of his tail. His ear-fins were replaced by human ears, and he no longer had claws on his hands. The compass around his neck seemed to have the same strange glow that the moon and sea had given off, now locked away inside it.

Hank was shocked and confused, but something told him that Connor had planned for this to happen. When Mer choose a mate, they intended to bond for life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that this chapter was enjoyable. As an Ace person, writing sexy times is kind of awkward for me, but I try. I do have ideas brewing for another chapter, so I'm working on it. I thank you for your patience, readers.


End file.
